


Black Dinner

by orphan_account



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Black Hat throws a dinner party, gen - Freeform, horrible things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Black Hat throws a dinner party. Dr. Flug is exasperated, but plays along - until he realizes one of the guests may open a very large, very deadly can of worms for him.





	1. Chapter 1

One of the things that most amused Flug was the fact so many heroes and villains thought of themselves in black and white, one or the other, with no nuance. He hated that sort of thinking, not just in morality, but in everything, from gender to social interactions.

It was part of the reason he didn’t think of himself as evil, anyways.

Flug’s own morality was very conditional. Right now, he opposed his boss in secret, which would make him a hero, but he willingly created evil devices for him, which would make him as complicit in evil as Black Hat was. If they worked. He didn’t like to think about it all too hard. The battle of good and evil was a grey area, like everything else in life.  
Hopefully, once Black Hat was dead, Flug could truly think of himself as a hero.

Mostly out of boredom and lack of anything else to do, Flug sat in the lab and flipped through the security camera feeds. It was nearly midnight, and everyone else had settled down for the most part. Dementia was asleep in her room, and Black Hat was relaxing (if one could call it that) in his study, with a thick book and a cup of tea. 5.0.5 was on Flug’s bed, a place they were usually forbidden from being. At least the bear was smart enough to not lay there when Flug was around.

He clicked back to the camera in Black Hat’s room.

It was the one and only thing that gave Flug that little feeling of power over his boss. After all, Black Hat didn’t seem to know about the camera, and Flug had seen the sort of things Black Hat did when he thought no one was looking. Some of them had been stranger than others, but every little thing, weakness or strength, was carefully recorded anyway. He would need all the knowledge he could get if he ever hoped to defeat Black Hat, even temporarily. 

Flug had never, ever seen Black Hat sleep, or even rest for longer than a few minutes. He regularly drank tea made from apple and apricot seeds, both of which Flug knew contained cyanide - a cup of that tea would probably kill him, but Black Hat was completely unaffected. Hell, Flug had seen Black Hat literally rip his own face off and regrow it later on. The man - or demon? Alien? Whatever he was, Black Hat seemed to be immortal, or at least impervious to physical harm. Flug knew he was at least three hundred years old, but wasn’t sure if he was older than that, even.

He’d slipped all sorts of concoctions in his boss’ tea and coffee, but Flug had never seen them have much effect. The one thing Flug knew from those little experiments was that a certain chemical mixture gave Black Hat a mild headache, and he had marked it down as an important note.

It would take far, far more testing, concocting, and fiddling until Flug had any sort of leg up on Black Hat, but he was determined to get there.

\---

5.0.5 used to cook for themself and the other two mortal inhabitants of the manor, but that had ended abruptly after Flug voiced concern about the bear’s habit of leaving the stovetop on. Dementia was very… creative with food, making heavy use of ketchup and frozen waffles. Black Hat wasn’t to concerned with humans and their silly needs (such as “eating” and “breathing”), so it finally fell to Flug to cook.  
He didn’t mind too much, frying bacon and eggs was so easy a chimp could do it. And then there always was Affle House down the street, if he didn’t feel like cooking.

Flug got up earlier than usual, heading to the kitchen with a bottle tucked in his coat. He didn’t bother calling Dementia and 5.0.5 in. Black Hat was already at the table, hidden behind the morning paper as usual. He didn’t suspect a thing, either - for all the demon knew, it was normal for humans to eat eggs and bacon sprinkled with a highly volatile, partially-tested sleeping agent. Goodness knows Dementia didn’t know, either, else she wouldn’t have bounded in and shoveled breakfast into her face so fast.

“Good grief, Dem, it’s not going to run away!” Flug leaned against the counter with a plate of pancakes for himself. They were one of the few foods he could actually eat, given that they weren’t drowned in syrup.  
Dementia said something indecipherable and went back to eating. Flug ignored her. She’d be out cold before long, if he’d managed the dosage correctly. Drugging her had simply been to test it and keep her from trying to defend her boss, in case this mixture was the one that worked. Black Hat, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so easy to disable.

Flug’s hands shook as he made his boss’ coffee - black as the void, with a healthy spoonful of ground anise. For taste, he said. Flug didn’t know if the sleeping powder had a taste, but he dumped the rest of it in the mug and stirred it in anyway. 

“Your coffee, sir.”

Black Hat grumbled, taking the mug without looking away from his paper. 

There was a long, awkward silence, punctuated only by Dementia’s crunching, then a muffled thunk as she fell face-first into her unfinished eggs. Flug’s heart jumped into his throat, but he tried to act natural.  
Black Hat didn’t even notice, instead becoming fixated on something in the paper. “Flug, look at this - all-black dinners are trendy again.” His voice was slightly watery, but Flug could detect nothing out of the ordinary. He was likely immune to the poison. “Black beans, black bread, black pudding… black chicken, even! They didn’t have that on the table the last time I had one of these...” 

Oh, no. There he went again.

Flug watched his boss ramble on about dinner parties and the things he used to go to when he was younger. “Imagine it, Flug! It could be the greatest social event of the decade, no, the century! Black Hat’s all-black dinner. A hundred dollars a plate, the place to mingle with your fellow villains...“ He suddenly slammed the paper down, making every glass object in the kitchen rattle. Black Hat’s eyes burned with green fire. “We invite every little pathetic half-assed villain to our little party!”

“Villains, sir?” Flug clutched his plate. Black Hat’s magic did nothing to soothe his nerves in the least. “Shouldn’t we… er… invite heroes? To, you know, kill them.”

“No, no.” Black Hat stood and rolled up the paper. “You see, what I want to do is make a night worth remembering. A moment that will stand out in everyone’s minds for the rest of their short little lives. I am going to put on a show tonight… what’s wrong with her?” He finally noticed Dementia, who was still out cold on the table. 

“Um… it’s that ‘sleeping’ thing humans do. You know, it’s natur… what do you mean tonight?!” Flug nearly dropped his plate. “Where - what - how many people do you intend to serve? We can’t just throw a dinner party without invitations, or se-”

Black Hat ignored Flug’s ramblings. “I expect to start at 7:00 PM sharp. And you had better be dressed to match, Flug. I want to impress these people, Flug, not kill them with laughter.”

Flug set his plate down and covered his bag with his hands. There went his entire plan for today. Now, instead of working towards Black Hat’s secrets, he was going to be stuck making food. For several people. For several powerful, probably important people that probably hated him. 

That was wonderful, just wonderful. What a way to start the weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good Lord in heaven, I swear he has no idea of mortal time…” Flug muttered to himself, dumping the spoils from his latest shopping trip on the counter. “5.0.5, go look up a recipe for black muffins.”  
Black beans, black olives, black bread, blackberries (which were technically dark purple)… there weren’t a lot of black foods that came ready made. Or cheap, in the case of the Ayam Cemani chicken that sat in a cage on the floor. For reasons he only described as “aesthetic”, Black Hat had ordered one from who-knows-where online, seemingly enchanted by the birds pitch-black feathers, skin, and even (as the seller had said) bones and muscle. 5.0.5 simply cooed over the bird, trying to pet it through the bars of the cage. 

Flug sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.” 

The next two hours were a rush of multitasking, with Flug running back and forth between the laptop and the counter, stepping over Dementia (who had decided to sleep on the floor instead of the table) along the way. Though he’d never baked anything before in his life, Flug didn’t consider it to be too hard. Cooking was an art, and baking was a science, after all. All it required was particular ratios, chemistry, physics, a good apron, and a quick search on the internet for a few recipies. 

He could do this. 5.0.5 occasionally helped to mix something, though he did a better job of getting blue fur everywhere. 

Habanero peppers and marshmallows, propped on sticks, turned black and crispy on the stove burners, while black muffins rose slowly in the oven. A thick piece of catfish drowned in black pepper was being blackened under the stove’s broiler. A variety of fruits and vegetables, all black, sat in bowls on the counter. Dessert was black pudding, ready-made and vacuum-sealed. Flug wouldn’t have minded making it himself, but large quantities of cow blood were hard to come by. He hadn’t yet thought ahead to flatware, but then again, he’d never planned a dinner party before. Black Hat had given him very little direction anyways - just make sure all the food was black, he’d said. Naturally black, cooked black, burnt black - it didn’t matter. Just black on black on black.

Of course, making the food was the easier part.

The chicken was going to be the real kicker.

It wasn’t long before 5.0.5 managed to realize that the fowl wasn’t there just to socialize, and had retreated to the corner, its cage clutched in their paws. 

“Give it here, 5.0.5.” Flug reached towards the bear, who simply turned away. “5.0.5, please, I don’t have time for this.”

5.0.5 whined. The chicken clucked and fluttered in the cage, as if suddenly aware of its fate. 

“You know as well as I do that if that chicken isn’t cooked by tonight, Black Hat will bite my head off again. And I’ll bite yours off again if you don’t give me that -” He lunged forward and grabbed the cage, mildly regretting the fact he had based 5.0.5 off a grizzly bear.

The bear pulled back, wailing and dragging Flug across the floor. 5.0.5 outweighed their creator by several hundred pounds, and nearly lifted him off the ground in trying to keep the cage away.

The tug-of-war came to a sudden end when Flug tripped over Dementia in the scuffle, who promptly woke up, sniffed, and began screaming.

“Fire!” She giggled, more amused than anything, and jumped onto the wall, hanging there like a gecko.

“Fire?” It took Flug a good ten seconds to get up and turn around, only to be greeted by the sight of the burning peppers on the stove, which had been completely forgotten in the fight over the chicken. Without thinking, Flug tore off his apron and began trying to beat the fire out. The fabric ignited almost instantly, and was quickly covered with gooey strands of burnt marshmallow and flakes of burnt pepper.   
Flug started screaming. Dementia joined him, more out of a desire to add to the chaos than anything. 5.0.5 forgot the chicken for a moment, turning the faucet on and trying to splash water towards the stove. The bird squawked unhappily.

It wasn’t long before Black Hat stormed in. “What is all this noise?!” 

Flug nearly jumped out of his skin. Of all times for his boss to show up, this was the absolute worst. “I-I’m sorry sir, I was just trying to roast peppers! Everything is under control!” Not knowing what else to do, Flug continued beating the stove with the flaming apron before finally throwing it down and trampling the fire out. 

“Flug-”

“5.0.5, get the fire extinguisher out of the lab and bri- Dementia get down from there before you fall!” Out of ideas, Flug stood in front of the chaos and wrung his hands, on the verge of a meltdown.

“Flug!” Black Hat strode forward and gripped Flug’s shoulders, staring him down. 

“S-sir, I didn’t mean t-”

“Turn. The stove. Off,” Black Hat growled. 

“O-oh. Yes.” Flug squirmed out of Black Hat’s grasp and turned the dial on the stove. The gas burner clicked off. He stood there awkwardly, staring at the smouldering ashes of the peppers.

“I swear, if I want to have anything done right around here, I have to do it myself!” Black Hat snapped his fingers. All at once, the burning food extinguished itself, and the chicken across the room burst into green flames.

Dementia burst into laughter. 5.0.5 burst into tears.

In the chicken’s place lay a plucked, beheaded, and perfectly roasted whole chicken, resting on a plate on a bed of greens and lemons, black on the inside as it was on the outside.

“I’m so terribly so-”

“Quit it, Flug.” Black Hat spun on his heel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tie my ascot. And don’t forget to put on something nicer than that filthy lab coat! We’re going to have guests.”

\---

In the back of Flug’s closet hung a black tuxedo, covered in dust. On the hanger with it was an extra-large clip-on bowtie for 5.0.5, and a sleek red dress for Dementia. None of the three really dressed up, as Black Hat always preferred to be the most well-dressed person in the room, but there were exceptions to be made.

“You look so weird without your hood.” Flug dusted off his tux, trying to drape a small towel over his arm. He was the closest thing Black Hat had to a butler; 5.0.5 was so much more suited to those types of things, but the bear had neither the grace nor the charm to be one.

Dementia pouted. Her hair, no longer restrained by the dragon hoodie, cascaded down her back like an acid-green waterfall. The dress, though a very pleasant shade of red, hung on her like a potato sack. “Look in the mirror, buddy.”

Flug busied himself with trying to attach the bowtie to 5.0.5’s fur. The bear was still crying, more than a little upset about the chicken’s sudden death, and not too thrilled at the prospect at watching other people eat it. “I know, I know. It doesn’t fit. Just hang in there.”

Somewhere else in the manor, an ancient grandfather clock chimed six. Black Hat swept down the hall like some eldritch bat before the last note sounded. “Good evening, sir and madam,” he said, more in oily sarcasm than anything. He wore his usual outfit, minus the coat and plus a cream ascot and bowler hat. “I would be honored to dine with you tonight.”

Flug tried to stand up straighter and try to appear more like a butler. 5.0.5 cowered behind him. Dementia sighed, lovestruck.

Black Hat grinned, pleased with his employees’ responses, then yawned. “Very good. Now - let’s show these inferior evils who’s the best at entertainment!”

\---

"Hello, my good ladies - Ms. Kinoko, Ms. Vess. Right this way." Black Hat tipped his hat to every guest (revealing a black berét under it, of course - he couldn't be Black Hat without a hat). There was the smooth, oily voice again, as cordial and polite as inhumanly possible. "Schadenfreude couldn't make it...? What a shame."

Flug stood just inside the doorway, watching the other villains enter. He had no idea how on earth Black Hat had gotten so many people on such short notice, but he wasn't surprised, either. Black Hat had a way with all things black, and blackmail was among his favourite.

"This is my colleague, Dr. Flug - you haven't met Ms. Kinoko, have you?" He stifled another yawn.

Muttering something about not knowing most of his boss' clients anyway, Flug shook hands with a pale woman in a mushroom-patterned dress. Her hand was oddly... spongy. "Charmed."

Kinoko turned away, brushing Flug off. Her companion, a dark-haired woman in an archaic purple outfit, took her hand and started chatting about the manor. 

"Villains," Flug muttered to himself. None of them ever had any manners, unless they wanted something out of somebody. His boss was the worst about it, but none of the others were much better.

"Good, good... oh, hello, Myrmeleon. It's been ages."

A sharp pang of adrenaline stabbed through Flug's chest at the name. He looked up and locked eyes with a tall man in orange armour, who was busy greeting Black Hat. Yes, it was him, and he still had that ugly brown cape, too.

Myrmeleon. King of the Ants. 

Flug had worked for him before, years ago. He designed his suit, his gear, and drew the plans for his anthill base. And then it all went to hell in a handbasket.

Please don't recognize me. Please don't, please don't, Flug thought.

And please don't say anything to sir, either.


	3. Chapter 3

“Your seat, sir.”

Flug’s mind was still reeling. He kept looking over to the table to make sure that yes, it was his former employer that had arrived at Black Hat’s dinner party. Lord, did he wish Myrmeleon hadn’t come at all.

Flug had been so naive in his younger days. His plan was pure genius - work for a villain, following along with their schemes, then turn on them at the last moment and destroy them. He could have a taste for both villainy and heroism, and then decide for himself which one he liked better.

But, of course, nothing had to go right.

The places were set, the food was out, and the guests, like it or not, were at their respective seats. Most sat stiffly, rarely moving or trying to make eye contact, except for the few who had taken a few too many visits to the bar in the back wall.

The only empty seat was the one at the head of the table, a fancy thing with gold legs and purple velvet. It had gone without saying that it was Black Hat’s, but it was still unoccupied.

Dementia slid up beside Flug and elbowed him. “Where’s Black Hat?” she said, not really trying to be quiet. “I wanna see something cool happen already...” The task of making conversation and showing people to their seats, all the while being withdrawn and elegant, had taken a toll on her. 

“I don’t know. He mentioned that painting.” Flug motioned to the eight-foot oil painting that hung behind the chair at the head of table. It, like every other painting Black Hat owned, depicted the villain himself among post-apocalyptic wreckage, covered in gold, jewels, and the blood of his enemies. From time to time, Black Hat enjoyed “possessing” paintings just to toy with passersby, but the Black Hat on the canvas didn’t move an inch. “I’m just going to... look for him right quick.”

Flug ducked out of the dining room and looked down the halls. “Sir? Sir, we’re waiting for you- oh.”

Black Hat stumbled down the hall, yawning and going on about something indecipherable. His skin boiled and rippled, as if he was trying to shapeshift but couldn’t put quite enough effort into it. The ascot around his neck was half-tied and crooked, the rest of his outfit disheveled.

“Are you feeling alright, sir...?” Flug suddenly remembered what he’d put in his boss’ morning coffee. “Dear Lord,” he whispered.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Black Hat attempted to shuffle into the dining hall, but Flug caught his sleeve.

“No, you aren’t,” he hissed. “You can’t go in there like that.” He frantically tried to remember what had gone into the powder he’d made his boss drink, and what would reverse the effects. Secobarbitol sodium, valerian root, some other dangerous sleep agents...

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Even in his delirious state, Black Hat was far stronger than Flug, and easily shoved the human away. “I can still show these inferior little creatures a thing or two.”

“Sir, no-!”

Black Hat ignored Flug’s cry, waddling into the dining hall anyways. “Villains! Are you ready to cower before me?!”

The assortment of villains at the table simply stared, taking in the sloppily-dressed villain that wobbled uncertainly in the doorway. One of them laughed, prompting a chuckle that ran down the table.

The laughter quickly turned to screams. Flug didn’t need to look in the doorway to know what was happening.

“Oh, Lord help me,” Flug muttered.

Well, at least he no longer had to worry about Myrmeleon anymore.

"I had the strangest hallucination last night.” Black Hat laid on the couch, his clothes and form still in disarray. 

“Oh, really?” Flug doused the floor in vinegar and scrubbed at the bloodstains that had been left there. Dementia had done a good job of disposing of the bodies, but blood was hard to get out. “What was it about?”

“There was a... dinner party... or something. All these other people in my house... laughing at me. I killed them.” He chuckled.

“That’s nice, sir.”


End file.
